Metaphysic Storm

I received an email from one of my anonymous relatives:

The 5 year old inside your Dad, unfortunately for anyone near him, was and is the sort of 5 year old who pulled the wings off butterflies and moths.  However, when you reflect on that 5 year old, keep in mind that the 5 year old was taught, by being tied to the basement banister, not to bother his mother when she was ‘busy’; was taught, by being tied to the crib mattress slats, not to ‘rock’ the bed; and was taught, by having his fingers burned, that he should not pick up a pack of matches .  First strike is, half of his DNA came from a woman capable of reaching a child (indeed, her own child …) such ‘lessons’.  Second strike is, said lessons were actually delivered, without appropriate consequence for said teacher/woman.  Third strike is - well, in spite of benefiting from our Father’s good looks, Wayne did not inherit much of our Father’s good humour, so he has little resilience against the DNA and the Early Childhood Education.

I responded:  I received very similar lessons growing up. I was taught the burning lesson by a hot motorcycle tail pipe. I wasn’t tied to any banisters but he did have me jump from them from the messianic. It turned me into a tourture of animals for many of my childhood years. Even at 15 I was still putting crayfish in the microwave to listen to them “scream”, reveling in pure pleasure, from their brutal end. I remember when I was 10 I picked up a rock and killed a beautiful white bird at 40 yards. I killed fish in shallow creeks by skipping stones. I used solar lazars on insects. I had a great aerial torture for snakes. BB guns and rabbits were a particular favorite of mine. I even his a locus in flight with a .22 rifle. It’s normal for kids to pull the legs off of daddy long leggers but I took the concept to an unnatural, nay, a supernatural level.

I’ve grown though. I won’t hurt an animal unless I’m being attacked or I want to eat it. Dad still has the capasity to change. I will not give up hope on him.
I packed my laptop and drove my South East of Las Vegas to finish my quest in the desert. I started braking the law by texting Amanda.

Beware of shrieking eel infested waters today.
<3
Breath.
Heading Due West
Maybe going out of cell range. Why did you smile when i hit you?
Animal Tracks
What keeps you from texting me?
Cyote poo
Dead giant spider.
Breath
Just spooked a jack rabbit
Why fear nature?
Ask god for help and be prepaired to thank him.
Nature made yogurt.
Thank you for getting me to think with my heart again.
As you wish.
What can i do to make it right?
I'm sorry for textimg you. I just love you so much i don't know what to do.
I just saw 9 shooting stars. I'll live without you if that's what it takes to make you happy.
Please forgive me.
I means only to teach and love.
Please don't be a zero. WWJD?
I've given the power to hurt me to you. You are very special.
Breath. Ask him for eels? Help.
My tears fall for you.
One text is all i ask.

The Natives began to speak to me. They said that if Amanda didn’t return my message by the time the moon set that I was to kill her in my mind and never let her see the world through my eyes. I asked if this was really necessary. They responded with a pack of coyotes howling in the distance.

The Indians are giving you 25 minutes.
This is serious.
Stupid is not the same as good.

The moon set. I began to cry and chant the OM. I breathed in the poison of the Universe, turned blue, died, came back to life and brought Heaven to Earth. The Species Spirit gave me a shower of unparalleled magnitude. I sent one last text to Amanda.

You will never know heaven. Don’t ever contact me.

I followed my instinct and went back to Las Vegas, meet some old friends and continued without rest. Speaking with Ajit Singha Asi on the phone, in from of a check cashing store, we unlighted each other further. The good news is that Amanda is still alive. She still has the opportunity to enter heaven. The choice is hers.

I’m currently on the road painting and can be found at rssutton.blogspot.com

At Jackson Square I was bragging to my friend, the phantom artist, about my two thousand dollar platinum and sapphire ring, which I traded a great painting for it from Nancy. It is her ex-wedding ring. The phantom joked around saying, “If you ever get held up they’re sure to miss it. Looks like you got it at the bead shop.” It’s my King ring, a symbol of my achievement, self proclaimed rule. Everyone needs to be the king of their self.

I hopped on the street car and cruzed up to La Boulangerie were I bought a baguette that would soon become part of a Kings sandwich. Exiting the shop I thought about my Queen in California, Amanda, hopping that she would forgive for breaking the law of the foreign land by mentally raping her in an early morning conversation. Heading back to the my chambers I was skillfully maneuvering my longboard on challenging New Orleans sidewalks. I approached a section that was impossible to traverse. A couple was walking out of a shop and watched me dismount my deck. They said, “We would have been really impressed if you would have been able to make it over that rough patch.” I replied, “There’s some things I just can’t do.” A few clicks down I got back on my board and kicked off. At the very next, quote unquote, side walk ramp I took a header right onto the pavement. The couple looked very concerned for my well being but they had nothing to worry about. I am a master at falling. I got up brushed off the dirt and started laughing. I asked them, “Did that impress you?” They joined my laughter and my pride remained strong.

Back at the Den I told my friend Nancy that I was depressed because Amanda was avoiding me but that I was still confident she would come around. Nancy wanted me to go with her to pick up some things from the store and I was more than happy to drive. At Pier One she made a startling discovery on my hand. The sapphire in my kings ring was missing. Upon further inspection we deduced that it was dislodged during my fall. We drove back to the location of the fall sight. She revealed an unjustified attachment to the gem and to make it more weird for her, the day would have been her 8th wedding anniversary.

We spent the next hour scouring the concrete looking for a thousand dollar cut stone. I was disappointed not finding it but rationalized that had I to chose losing the stone or the Neo Ray Bans I was wearing, I would have chosen the stone. I’m an Imperadør now, after all. I gave the ground one more look as I searched for the carved gem. Amanda called.

This has been my month, my friends! There won’t be another 1-08 for a century. I started out this month on an insomniac greyhound, spent the middle of it in the pchyc ward and the end on pirates alley. Last night I watched the King of California: now officially my movie. Michael Douglas plays an idiot genius who forces his daughter (Evan Rachel Wood) to search for the long-lost Spanish treasure. Last night I told my love that I was about to kick ass and take names in Hollywood, painting.

“Mis en place” is a French term used in the brigade system of cooking. It means, in it’s place. It is the most important element in line cooking. When a chef has 20 plates to make in the next 10 minutes everything must be in it’s place or he’ll be destined to sink in the weeds.

Kicking ass and taking names was a term my father used. He stopped talking to me recently after I told him I was the messiah. He knows I wasn’t talking about the walking on water type but rather a teacher and writer of clean words. I always found it odd that he used the term “kicking ass and taking names” because the only ass I saw him kick was us-kids. And he already new our names.

One of the last things he told me was that he was done kicking ass and taking names. It looks like it is my turn to start taking names. My kids are only going to get kisses. Maybe soap in the potty mouth though